Marlow paused to put new life into his expiring cheroot, seemed to forget all about the story, and abruptly began again.

’My fault of course.  One has no business really to get interested.  It’s a weakness of mine.  His was of another kind.  My weakness consists in not having a discriminating eye for the incidental—­for the externals—­no eye for the hod of the rag-picker or the fine linen of the next man.  Next man—­that’s it.  I have met so many men,’ he pursued, with momentary sadness—­’met them too with a certain—­certain—­impact, let us say; like this fellow, for instance—­and in each case all I could see was merely the human being.  A confounded democratic quality of vision which may be better than total blindness, but has been of no advantage to me, I can assure you.  Men expect one to take into account their fine linen.  But I never could get up any enthusiasm about these things.  Oh! it’s a failing; it’s a failing; and then comes a soft evening; a lot of men too indolent for whist—­and a story. . . .’

He paused again to wait for an encouraging remark, perhaps, but nobody spoke; only the host, as if reluctantly performing a duty, murmured—­

‘You are so subtle, Marlow.’

‘Who?  I?’ said Marlow in a low voice.  ’Oh no!  But he was; and try as I may for the success of this yarn, I am missing innumerable shades—­they were so fine, so difficult to render in colourless words.  Because he complicated matters by being so simple, too—­the simplest poor devil! . . .  By Jove! he was amazing.  There he sat telling me that just as I saw him before my eyes he wouldn’t be afraid to face anything—­and believing in it too.  I tell you it was fabulously innocent and it was enormous, enormous!  I watched him covertly, just as though I had suspected him of an intention to take a jolly good rise out of me.  He was confident that, on the square, “on the square, mind!” there was nothing he couldn’t meet.  Ever since he had been “so high”—­“quite a little chap,” he had been preparing himself for all the difficulties that can beset one on land and water.  He confessed proudly to this kind of foresight.  He had been elaborating dangers and defences, expecting the worst, rehearsing his best.  He must have led a most exalted existence.  Can you fancy it?  A succession of adventures, so much glory, such a victorious progress! and the deep sense of his sagacity crowning every day of his inner life.  He forgot himself; his eyes shone; and with every word my heart, searched by the light of his absurdity, was growing heavier in my breast.  I had no mind to laugh, and lest I should smile I made for myself a stolid face.  He gave signs of irritation.